In Pursuit of Azure's Sadness
by Lady Katharine Heartspark
Summary: Cassandra's parents are dead — killed by unknown murderers. She has lived as a thief in her home country, but her past has finally caught up with her and she has but one place to go — Tortall, and the Court of the Rogue. YES! YES! GOOD ON ME! NEW CHAP
1. Figures in the Fog

Chapter One

Figures in the Fog

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The fog crept in from the sea, covering the forest in a thick and unpenetrable blanket. A hut sat just outside the boundary of the trees. The hut itself was small, barely two rooms, but it was enough for the three people the resided in it at the time. The roof was lopsided, leaning too far to the right, but it kept out the wind and the rain and the snow, and that was all that mattered.

Inside the hut, a fire crackled happily in the hearth, and a woman tucked her child into bed in the other room. The woman was in her early thirties; the child was a girl-child, eight or nine. The woman hummed a wordless melody as she made sure the blankets were packed in tight. A man sat in a chair, alternately staring at the fire and at the dark doorway that led to the room his wife and child sat in, all the while smoking a pipe.

The woman finished her song, tousled her child's dark brown hair, and walked out of the room, pulling the door behind her. She closed it by taking a piece of rope that was tied to the knob and hooking it over a nail that protruded from the wall. She walked calmly over to the man and sat gracefully on the floor beside him. The woman leaned her head on his leg and the both stared into the fire. They sat in silence.

Finally, the man spoke. "Did you give it to her?"

"Yes."

"And she knows not to show it to anyone?"

"She would never have shown it, even if I hadn't told her to keep it hidden. She's a smart child."

"Did you tell her what to do, if we . . . if we . . ."

"I told her."

"This place isn't safe any longer. We must leave tomorrow, go somewhere. Far away. A new land, new names, new _lives_ for all of us."

"I know."

"I never imagined it would come to this. It is lucky that she knows not what she possesses."

"I know."

The two fell into silence again. Outside, the fog rose higher and thicker.

Two figures crept through the trees and the mist. They moved stealthily, with the grace of cats: soft and deadly footfalls that melted away in the muffled forest. Both figures looked ahead, to where a lopsided hut sat forlornly, a fire-glow coming from the windows.

They moved as shadows, sidling up to the house undetected. One peered through the only dark window in the house. He viewed a child, sleeping peacefully although her feet hung off the edges of the bed. His partner made an inquisitive noise, and he shook his head and waved her on.

They made their way to the front of the house.

The woman and man were interrupted in their thoughts when the door burst open, revealing the forms of two people standing with daggers drawn. The figures lunged toward the two sitting on the hearth, putting knife to throat. The woman managed one strangled noise before both were silenced forever.

In her darkened room, the girl awoke with a start. She opened her mouth to call out, but snapped it closed, some sixth sense warning her to stay silent. Instead, she flung back the covers and crept to the small crack that remained between the door and the wall, a peephole between darkness and light. Two figures, clad in dark cloaks, dark tunics — two figures clad in darkness tore the room apart. Her parents lay dead on the floor in pools of blood.

The girl sprang back from the crack, chest heaving, gray eyes burning with unshed tears. She bit her lip and blinked fiercely. She could not cry! There were more important things at hand. She did not have much time.

As quietly as she could, the girl pulled the single chair in the house and wedged it under the knob of her door. She ran to her chest and heaved it open, pulling out her bag, a blanket and spare clothes. She put on her toughest boots, even though they pinched her toes. The girl grabbed all that she could and shoved it into her bag. Next, she pushed the windowpane out the window, hearing it land in the dirt with a soft noise. The girl thrust her bag out the window, and then climbed through it herself, wiggling her shoulders to fit herself through.

The girl landed in the dirt with a thud, but sprang up immediately, unharmed. She grabbed her bag and sprinted into the fog-covered forest. Behind her, she heard the unmistakable crack of splintered wood as the figures broke down the door to her room, followed by a howl of rage. The cry of "We must find her! We must find _it_!" faded into the mist as she ran from a shattered past.

Under the girl's shirt, close to her heart, a deep blue gem on a leather thong bounced with the rhythm of her running.

***

No one noticed the solitary teenager as she walked with the flow of the mid-afternoon crowd. She was wearing lower-middle class clothes, and her coloring was such that she blended into the background of the clash of humanity that was the marketplace. Little remained to identify her as a girl who ran for her life one foggy night, many years ago.

The girl glanced out of the corner of her eye at a woman striding forward to her left. The woman was lenient; her cloth bag hung open. Slowly, the girl worked her way toward the oblivious woman, until she was walking just behind and a little to the right.

Suddenly, the girl tripped. She crashed into the woman's right side but caught herself before she could fall to the hard stone street. "Sorry," she said to the woman, smiling sheepishly. The woman flashed her a return smile, but didn't stop, or say anything. The woman continued walking until she was, once again, a figure in the crowd.

Slowing her pace to a walk, the girl watched silently before turning to her right and down a side-street. She made her way through a labyrinth of back streets and alleyways before pushing open a door and stepping into a dimly lit room.

"What's the haul, Cass? What'd you nick?"

A male voice addressed her as she stepped over the doorframe and pulled the door shut. She turned around and stuck her hands on her hips, facing the teenager who sat looking at her with a grin on his face.

"_Next_ time, Brin, how about you yell it to the whole street?" she accosted him.

"Oh, come on, _Cassandra_," the boy said, mocking her name. "You know I wasn't sayin' it _that _loud."

"Loud enough for the Street-Men to hear you," Cassie retorted.

"Take yourself off! Just show me what you hauled," the boy Brin said, rolling his eyes.

Cassie removed a medium belt purse from its hiding place inside her tunic. Sitting down, she upended it over the floor. Five or six silver coins cascaded down, along with several silk scarves and a brooch.

The boy grabbed for the brooch. "Where'd you find _this_ beauty?" he exclaimed.

"Some idiot of a woman left her pack open. Easier than breathing to grab, and she's long gone by now. Never even realized it."

"Nice," he said. "It'll fetch a pretty penny at Uncle Morit's."

Now it was Cassie's turn to roll her eyes. "Why do you call him your uncle? He's just the owner of a pawn shop."

"He asked us to call him uncle — you know that. And _I'm_ obliged to do anything that keeps him happy, elsewise he starts asking questions we don't wanna answer." Brin flipped a coin into the air and caught it. "Well, I'm off to buy us a decent meal. You wanna come?"

Cassie shook her head. "I've had enough of those people for one day. I'll stay here and nap. You wake me up when you get back — and if you eat all of it yourself you'll wake up a finger or two short!"

Passe laughed as he walked out the room. Cassie yawned. She rolled over and onto her sleep-mat. Pulling a ragged blanket over her form, she closed her eyes, and fell asleep soon after that.

Cassie awakened suddenly to a crashing noise at her door. She sprang up, reaching for her knives as a reflex, but relaxed when she heard a drunken mutter from the other side of the door. The intoxicated man staggered off down the street, leaving curses still hanging in the air.

She shivered. Cool night air seeped in through the cracks of the wood. Reaching for her overtunic, she stopped and frowned. How could it be night, and Brin not back yet? He had left in the middle of the afternoon! And she knew he would have awakened her if he returned home and left again.

Sighing, Cassie shrugged the tunic over her shoulders. She bent down and scooped the day's haul back into the pouch, but froze before she finished.

Where was the brooch?

She groaned exasperatedly, realizing the only possible explanation. Wasn't it just like Brin to go to Morit's without telling her! He'd probably nicked the brooch while she wasn't looking. And of course, if he went to Morit's he'd get involved in the back room card game that Morit always had going! Completely forgetting, of course, that he'd promised to bring back food for her, and himself!

She shoved the rest of her haul into the bag and fastened it to her belt. Cassie stomped out the door and slammed it behind her and set off through the dusty streets to Morit's pawn shop.

It took her close to fifteen minutes to reach the pawn shop. She marched straight in through the front door and back behind the rack of clothes to the next door, leading straight into the back room. "Brin! Morit!" she shouted angrily as she opened the second door, but she choked on the stench that flowed out the door.

She stopped and looked into the room. Her eyes widened in horror.

Brin and Morit both lay on the ground, their throats cut. Their clothes were in disarray, and any bags the two had had on their person were upended and had obviously been rooted through. It was plain to see that they had been searched.

Cassie slammed the door, blocking off the sight. She gagged, and threw up on the floor. Straightening, she looked frantically around. Was there any sign in the shop that something was wrong? Why hadn't the killers taken anything, if it was a botched robbery?

She ran through the store, looking for something, _anything_ out of place.

Nothing was.

The clothing was still undisturbed on the rack. Old clocks still ran. Fragile knickknacks were unbroken. The jewelry was —

__

The jewelry.

The items of jewelry on their racks were scattered across the counter. Some of the precious stones had been shattered. They had been disturbed. They had been searched. The jewels' disarray was the only thing that spoke of death in the back room.

A coldness seeped into her body, freezing her on the spot.

__

They had found her.

After so many years, when she finally thought she was safe, they had found her after all. The same people who had killed her parents were out looking for her, and she didn't even know who they were. Her head whirled. In the haze of confusion and fear, one truth pushed its way to the front of her mind.

She had to get away.

Cassandra's logical mind took over. There was nothing for her at her lodging. All she had was the day's haul, and she had brought it with her. There was nothing to go back for. They had probably already found her lodging and were waiting for her to come back.

She would go away. Far into the West. She would take a boat down the River Ekale and into the east side of the Inland Sea, and she would land in a country so far away from her own that no one would be able to trace her. She would vanish, and get to a strange country, where no one could find her.

She would go to Tortall.

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	2. Voyaging

Chapter Two

Voyaging

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Cass stood proudly at the prow of a cargo ship. The wind from the ship's movement whipped her hair around her shoulders, and her too-slender shoulders were thrown back. She was enjoying the feeling of being free. The Ship-Man whose detail it was to watch her didn't like the look in her eyes.

Her thoughts roamed, leaving her body motionless at the railing. _What a strange position for me to be in,_ Cass thought humorlessly, looking over the wide expanse of the Inland Sea. _Me who's never been a mile past my homeland in over eight years, gone down the river and into new land in just three weeks._

She thought back farther, remembering the panic that had gripped her after she left the pawnshop. The girl had ran to the nearest port, right in the middle of the city for easy access by the market-goers. She had stolen on board the cargo ship, hiding in the galley. The ship set sail, unaware of its small and hunted stowaway.

They had discovered her three days out from port, when the ship was already in the Sea and too far away from land to stop and put her off. In any case, the captain had guessed (rightly) that if she was forced to disembark, she would be taking half the possessions along with her.

So she had paid him what little coin she had, and he told her to stay in her room most of the time, lest she make the _paying_ customers uneasy. And, the captain added, if anything went missing, she'd be overboard faster than a thought. The captain assigned the Ship-Man to follow her anywhere she went, and to stay outside her room when she was in it.

Apparently, that very same Ship-Man thought she had been at the railing for long enough, and, eyeing the elderly lady approaching the prow of the ship, he grabbed roughly at her shoulder and said, "Time for you to be inside, girl." Cass turned her head and stared fiercely at him, disliking his proximity to her. The Ship-Man let go of her arm and backed away, but his hand flew to his dagger-hilt, and his eyes were hard.

Cass sighed imperceptibly. Ship-Men or Street-Men, they were all the same — thinking only of the possibility of attack. She pushed back from the rail and went inside to her cabin.

Once the door was shut, she was alone in the near darkness of a room with only one window. The smell assaulted her nostrils — she must be somewhere close to the ship's head — and she closed her eyes.

Pictures flew to cover the darkness of her eyelids. Her mother and father, Brin, even Morit she remembered as she laid in a room filled with twilight. The woman who sold meat-pies to her for a copper less than the normal price, the man with the silk shop that always laughed when she sold him the scarves she nicked . . . people came and went from her memories.

The pleasant memories ended abruptly as if they were cut with a knife, and ironically, that was what she thought of next: the results of one sweep of a blade. New pictures floated in her mind: her parents, their death-white faces contrasting the blood on the floor; Brin, his sweet face marred by the expression of death; Morit, who had never liked her in the first place.

Consciously, Cass raised her hand to her neck and fumbled with her shirt, drawing out the deep blue tear that she kept hidden. As she had done countless times before, she lifted it over her head and studied it, frowning.

It looked the same as always. As long as her fifth finger to the first knuckle, the jewel didn't reflect any light, but seemed to glow from within. The color was such a deep blue it looked almost black, but when she held it in front of the small window, the light shone through it and it was visibly blue. The chain she had bought for two silvers and a lady's finely woven scarf threaded through a small hole at the top of the blue drop.

Shaking her head, Cass separated the two chain strands and lifted the gem over her head again, hiding it under her shirt. She curled up in the pile of ratty blankets, closed her eyes, and let the ship's movements lull her to sleep, while a hummed lullaby echoed between her ears.

***

"You! Girl!"

Cass woke, her hands flying to her armpit and boot-top. Her fists closed on empty air; the captain had taken her daggers.

"Outside! Now!" She was shaken roughly, the disturbance chasing sleep from her befuddled brain.

Squinting, she looked at the figure that shook her. It was the Ship-Man. Cass growled and slapped his arm away, but he was not to be so easily distracted. He grabbed her tunic-front and hauled her to her feet.

"I said _now_, girly." Cass glared fiercely at him, but he ignored her. He shoved her ahead of him and out the door.

On deck, it was night. The coolness that came with the sun's descent was enough to make Cass shiver, dressed as she was in a light tunic. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw that the ship had put to port. Her heart beat a little quicker in her chest. The Ship-Man had been dragging her while her thoughts wandered, and when released her, she fell at the feet of the captain because of the sudden loss of support.

The captain jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "We're here, girl. It's time for you to leave – I don't want you leaving with the _paying_ customers. And if you tell anyone that I let you stay, you won't wake up the following morning!"

Cass sneered elegantly at him. Picking herself up, she walked down the board and onto the dock, continuing onto the land – and onto Tortallan soil.

She paused, closing her eyes and deeply breathing in the crisp night air. She was free! There was no way they could find her here. Absolutely no way.

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Yay! Another chapter done, and with school started and all! Kudos go to my (sadly depleted) reviewers, you all rock! Now, as for the rest of you . . . well, review this chapter and all will be forgiven. :) and check out my other stories too . . . they're all worthwhile reads, even if two of them are fluffy. But fluff is good!


	3. A Plan Conceived

Chapter Three

A Plan Conceived

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The first thing Cass felt as she stood in Tortall was not awe of the sheer size, or longing for her home, or even a sense of being transplanted and lost. Her first feeling was hunger, a sudden empty gnawing in the pit of her stomach that made her realize just how little she had eaten on the ship.

Her first job would be to find food. And for food, she would need money.

Eyeing a gaggle of well-dressed men standing on the pier next to a luxury boat, she moved towards them nonchalantly. Once she was close enough, she executed a perfect trip-and-nick pickpocket job, as easy as breathing to a seasoned thief like she was. Apologizing profusely to the gentlemen, Cass strolled away, fingering the coins now safe in her pocket.

Cass wandered around for the better part of an hour, refusing to let herself ask for directions to the nearest inn. Finally, she found one — the Rising Phoenix. She sauntered inside, eyes flicking from side to side, and made her way to the front desk, producing one coin.

The innkeeper looked at her sharply, and with distaste. "A gold noble?" he muttered suspiciously, taking in her ragged clothes and disheveled appearance.

Quelling her anxiety, Cass gave the innkeeper a lusty wink. "A tip from my last customer," she whispered conspiratorially.

Her masquerade worked. The innkeeper visibly relaxed. "What was it ye wanted?" he asked.

"The house special," she answered promptly.

"Don't ye have . . . smaller change? That could buy fifty dinners," he said, motioning at the coin.

"Oh," she said. "Throw in a few shirts." Seeing his expression, she quickly added more. "And some skirts." Pause. "And a pair of boots, and underclothes! As many clothes as can be bought! All of them as nice as you can find." The man nodded and scurried off.

Cass moved to a seat with her back to the wall, facing windows — she still couldn't shake off old habits.

Within minutes, a servant approached her table, laden with two steaming plates of food and a pitcher of strong ale. Forgetting the little manners she knew, Cass commenced to stuff herself, practically shoving food and drink down her parched throat.

Just a short time later, the plates were empty, nary a crumb of food left. Cass leaned back with a satisfied smile, feeling the fullness of her stomach appreciatively. Uneasy to stay now that she had finished eating, she got up and moved towards the door. The innkeeper intercepted her, bearing an armload of wrapped packages.

"Here ye are," he announced, dumping them into her arms. "Best I could find."

"Thankee," said Cass, and immediately slammed her lips shut.

" 'Thankee,' is it?" the man said, smiling. "I thought the lass had an accent. Where is it ye're from?"

She answered honestly; there was no reason for her to lie. "Syene."

"For true? A real Syenese youngling, here in my inn! We don't get many of those. That's one long journey, and I don't envy you the seasickness. Ye're here for the Prince's weddin', then?"

Cass hid her confusion. "What makes you speak so?" she inquired, narrowing her eyes.

The man smiled at her accent, and answered. "Everyone's here for it, lass — rich and poor alike love our Prince Roald. But if the weddin' is yer destination, ye'd best be off. The weddin' is four days hence, and Corus a three day's ride."

She nodded slowly. A plan slowly surfaced in her brain. "And you say everyone will be there?"

"Surely. This day has been a long time in coming, what with the war and all," he told her, nodding.

A few minutes bartering later and she had a horse for the journey to Corus, and solid directions and traveling bread from the innkeeper. It was arranged for her to drop the horse at the house of a friend of the innkeeper when she finally reached Corus, since she had no need of a horse after that.

Cass began to ride that night, in a hurry to get to this city where rich people roamed the streets. She needed to get there in enough time to scope out the wealthiest man to relieve of his fortune.

She smiled grimly as she rode. _A perfect plan_, she thought. _I'll pinch some half-wit's fat purse and set myself for life._

Because of the rate she was riding, she reached Corus on the morning of her third day of riding. She had stopped for only four hours each night, and only then because the horse was too exhausted to continue.

Instead of returning the horse, she let it free in the forest. Mayhap he would find his way back, mayhap no — people should know better than to trust her.

After stowing her excess clothes under a bush on the outskirts of the city, she strode in through the gates. _Perfect,_ she thought as she walked. _I've got near on two days to find the perfect victim, before they all take off the night after this Prince Roald's wedding. Plenty of time._

But either the innkeeper had gotten his dates wrong, or the date had been changed. As she reached the main square, she caught sight of the Palace for the first time. It was positively gargantuan, dominating the skyline. The precious materials and costly architecture caught her eyes immediately, but she knew there was no way to nick a building.

Just after she spotted the Palace, she caught sight of the veranda that had been erected on the Palace's front lawn, just outside the walls. It was covered in white flowers – magically kept from wilting, she suspected – and had seats for hundreds of people. Commoners flooded the lawns, shoving forward to get closer to their monarch.

Cass pressed her lips together until the skin around them turned white. She would have to work hard if she wanted to turn a profit – a _real_ profit, not some merchant's purse. Picking up her stride to a light jog, she headed towards the veranda.

She was so skinny after her sea voyage that she had no problem sliding through the crowd. Noting that most of the commoners weren't emaciated, she came to the conclusion that Tortall wasn't such a bad place at all – especially compared to the streets of Syene.

A man, clearly drunk by his breath, grabbed her arm. "A pretty lass, this one!" he shouted in her face, as only obnoxious intoxicated people can. Without turning a hair, Cass slammed her fist into his ample stomach. The man doubled over, his friends crowding him, and Cass disappeared into the multitudes of people.

She reached the front of the veranda as the ceremony started. They had set it up so commoners could see both the prince and his wife-to-be as well as the two priests. Cass blinked, surprised to see two priests – did that mean they had more than one god? She would have to find out in order to blend.

Leaning forward, she studied the prince. He was handsome enough, she decided. She was close enough to see his eyes sparkle as he looked at his bride, and she realized that he truly loved her. In spite of her cynical and jaded paradigm, she was happy when she saw that love in his eyes — maybe there was decency left in the world after all.

Someone shoved her from behind, jamming her body, just below her ribcage, into the edge of the veranda. Cass gasped, the wind knocked from her body. Hot rage boiling through her veins, she gained back her breath, then whirled around, ready to make the shover pay.

Elaborately carved wood, inset with semi-precious gems, squatted in the grass. It was a litter, the traveling bed of some nobleman, perhaps. Carried by four strong men, she realized that the shove she felt was the commoners making way.

A whiny voice emanated from inside the litter curtains. "I can't believe they wouldn't let us in through the gate!" complained a man's voice, full of nasal vowels and a strong Tortallan accent. "We have to watch down here with the _commoners_" — he spat the word out — "while the Royal Family roosts with impudent wenches who don't know their places! It's unheard of! I can't believe —"

Confused, Cass drowned him out and turned back to the veranda, trying to figure out just who the "impudent wenches" were. Her sharp eyes picked out two women, both muscled and wearing swords strapped around their waists, standing with the honored guests.

Cass's eyes widened. Was it not a story? Back in the street of Syene she had heard one of the travelling merchants tell of strong warrior women in the far East. She had scoffed with the rest of the crowd. "Women, be warriors? Impossible!" she had muttered.

Even though she personally loved the idea of women warriors, she had had to hide her true feelings while still in her country. Women were little more than possessions, and just suggesting they could be more was placing yourself at risk for treason — standing up against the rules of the czar.

Cass stared openly at the two women, the power of her gaze attracting one's attention. The taller woman flicked her eyes towards her, an expression of nothing on her face but slight amusement in her eyes. Quickly averting her own eyes, Cass looked back to the bride and groom, but the whiny man's voice behind her broke into her thoughts once more. She disliked him more with each second that passed.

"I _still _can't believe they let the harlots stay at Court, much less keep their so-called titles," he complained to no one. "_I_ think the king _and_ the prince must be bewitched to let them stay. And the fact that I have to stay down here with the _commoners_ for the wedding is inconceivable! Who knows what kind of diseases I may be contracting! In fact –" his voice was muffled, as if he was filtering air through his shirt "– I don't even know why I came. They obviously overlooked my presence, to forget that I was invited and not let me in!"

One of the litter bearers spoke softly, and the man exploded. "Of _course_ I was invited in the first place! How dare you suggest otherwise!" He sighed. "I am sick of this wedding, and this day. Take me home."

The litter bearers gently picked up the heavy bed and backed out of the crowd, doing their best not to bump anyone but not always succeeding.

Unnoticed, Cass slipped through the crowd, following the litter and the whiny man.

She had picked her target.

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Revive the peanut gallery! Kate has returned from the valley-of-the-authours-who-have-finished-their-major-work-and-feel-disinclined-to-write-anything-else-ever!! Yay!

Don't forget to review and this does have a plot I promise!


	4. Unnoticed No Longer

Chapter Four

Unnoticed No Longer

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Cass hunched outside the window, shivering as the cool night air seeped through her thin tunic. Her face bathed in the glow from inside, she watched intently as the man from the litter, every bit as ratty looking as his voice suggested, carefully turned down the sheets on his satin-clad bed. He slid between the covers, lying flat on his back. Within minutes, she could hear his snores through the glass.

Smiling scornfully, Cass unsheathed one of her seven knives and studied the window. It was somewhat normal; four panes of glass set into a square figure, edged with what looked to be iron. Cass stuck her knife into the iron part, and smiled as it splintered. _Just like back home_, she thought, satisfied. _They think if it looks like the real thing it must be the real thing._ She began to pry the wood off the glass.

Unbeknownst to her, the deep blue gem against her chest flashed in random pulses of light.

Soon, she had prised the two strips of wood out from between the glass, making next to no noise. This left her with a cross of open air in the middle of the window. Slipping her numb fingers into gloves, she gripped the upper left-hand pane of glass. With a quick jerking motion, she pulled it from the wall, leaving a one-by-one square. Cass quickly wrenched the other three panes from their homes, leaving them in a neat pile outside the window.

Quiet as mist, Cass slipped in through the now open window. Her trained feet made no noise on the hardwood floors, and she kept her breath as soft as possible.

The man grunted in his sleep, flipping over and getting comfortable again. Cass caught her breath, hand flying to the gem beneath her shirt – a nervous habit picked up from years of living with the necklace. She fingered it until the man was silent once again. Then, stealthily, she slipped to the bureau.

Gathering what she knew about men like him and their hiding places, she drew open the bottom drawer, digging to the back. Wrinkling her nose as she sifted through his loincloths, she groped a small silk pouch. She pulled the drawstring and saw the glint of gold.

Unsatisfied, she attached the pouch to her belt, closed the drawer, and slid out of the room.

Cass moved freely through the empty house, checking all the common places to hoard money. Apparently, this man had not been burgled before — he had money so easily hidden that she barely had to look. Still, she was not content. She had picked up upwards of six pouches, but purses of gold weren't what she was after.

Without her knowledge, the gem continued to flash irregularly as she moved through the room. It pulsed silently, but her shirt soaked up what scant light the jewel produced, and she didn't distinguish it from the light that shone in through windows. It glowed with a steady light when she picked up the bags of gold, but went back to flashing erratically as soon as she began moving.

As Cass walked from room to room, a sudden thought occurred to her. _If he's so stupid or naïve to not have hidden the loot, maybe he's got a treasure room!_ she thought excitedly. She retraced her steps, looking for doors.

The first two led to a washroom and a guestroom. The third lead to the kitchen, and the servant's wing after that. She was just about to give up on a treasury and begin searching harder when she spotted a partially hidden door in the corner of a corridor. She grinned, a predator about to catch her prey.

Cass jimmied the lock in seconds, and stepped forward into the most elaborate treasury she had ever had the liberty to observe. High pedestals raised artifacts above the general clutter of the floor. Gold coins spilled out from pouches as gems shone quietly on the wood floor.

Quickly moving to the pedestals, she grabbed their items, listening for the sounds of an alarm spell. None came. She almost laughed at his stupidity and her good luck. She shoved the pedestal items into a small bag, tying it about her waist before bending over and grabbing at the coins that littered the floor.

That done, she left the way she came, leaving behind an unsuspecting victim to a marvelous crime.

***

The morning light streamed in through the windows of the Soaring Falcon. Nicolas Thatcher strolled down the stairs and situated himself in his chair by the fire of the empty common room. It was too early to be awake for most people, but Nick Thatcher was not most people.

At first glance, Nick looked like the average commoner. He wore plain clothes of average quality and had what looked to be unspectacular good looks. But after a closer inspection, it became evident that this was no ordinary young man.

About twenty, Nick Thatcher possessed the same muscular grace that all Kings of the Rogue must have in order to succeed. He moved smoothly and silently, sharp eyes taking in everything around him. With short, dark brown hair and blue eyes that were a shade of blue so as to be black, his looks were unconventional, but compelling. They fit him.

After having poisoned the King before him, Nick took command of the Court of the Rogue. Following tradition, he moved the Court to the Soaring Falcon, his favorite inn. He now lounged lazily in the chair by the fire, letting his thoughts wander.

Another figure sauntered down the stairs, vaulting over the railing and landing gracefully on the floor. He threw himself across a chair. "Good morning, Nick," he said conversationally.

Emmit was one of the three people in the world who could still call the King of the Rogue by his first name. The two had met before the age of ten, when both were still pickpockets scrounging for a living. Emmit had helped Nick to gain his position, and now kept him well informed about the goings on of his kingdom.

Nick nodded, still disinclined to speak so early in the morning. Emmit continued, giving him the rundown of the night. "Last night was a good one — Lucas Empri finally got the jeweler's shop on Copper Street; we got about thirty nobles off that. Slider pulled a good haul from old man Kahbey — but one of the servants saw him, so he has to lay low for a while. Quickpick broke into—"

A man burst through the inn doors, interrupting Emmit's list. "Emmit! Your Majesty!"

Nick frowned, slightly worried, but then recognized the man as one of his Court, a rogue called Lightsteps, for his ability to walk without making a sound. Lightsteps was grinning from ear to ear, and Nick relaxed a little. "What do you want, 'Steps? Emmit and I've a lot to talk about without you barging into the midst of it," he called as Lightsteps strode to the table.

"Majesty, won't you tell us who did it? The whole city's talkin'!"

"What are you talkin' about? Who did what?" Emmit asked, leaning back in his chair.

"Who pulled off the catch! It's amazin'! The city's a-buzz, and no one knows anythin'!"

Nick shot a quick glance at Emmit. The burglaries of the night before had been minor, and arranged ahead of time – nothing to warrant the city's attention. What could Lightsteps be talking about, then?

When neither man spoke, Lightsteps prodded them. "Was it Slider? Andre? _Who_?"

Nick smiled, his mind racing. " 'Steps, if you told me what job it is, then I'll tell you who _might_ have pulled it off."

The rogue snorted and rolled his eyes. "And he acts like he doesn't know. Lord Udell! The old bastard's treasure room was picked clean afore mornin' broke, and not a mark on his spells! So says the cook, who heard Udell screamin' bloody murder at the sight, and he told one of ours afore they all got hauled off for questionin'."

Nick's eyes were guarded, and he looked just once, fiercely, at Emmit.

Emmit knew his friend's signals. "Lightsteps, get out of here." The rogue looked like he was about to argue, but changed his mind and held his tongue; Nick hadn't taken anyone's ears yet, but he didn't want to be the one starting the collection. And when the King looked as he did, there was no sense in making a fuss. Lightsteps was out of the inn as fast as his infamous feet could take him.

Nick leaned back, away from the table, exhaling as he did so. Emmit rubbed the spot in-between his eyebrows. "Someone picked Lord Udell's hoard?" he muttered. "Without clearin' it with you, no less." Emmit shook his head. "It just doesn't add up. Why would someone bother to do it without you knowin'?"

"I have no idea," Nick said. "Especially since every rogue in Tortall knows I'd just help them get in. We've been trying to crack that skinflint for years." He bit his lip, a sign he was thinking.

" And it's damn near impossible to believe — Udell's got more guardspells on his manor than sand on a beach! But 'Steps said none were tripped . . ." Emmit trailed off.

"And you've heard nothing?" Nick asked him.

Emmit shook his head emphatically. "Not a word. And like you said, it's not like they'd keep this quiet. Anyone wantin' to break in would want your help in the doin' of it."

"Except someone broke in without my help," Nick muttered. The two men were silent. After a few minutes, Nick spoke again. "Here's what we'll do: don't say we don't know. Let them think that Slider did it, and that's why he has to lie low. Say that you pulled Kahbey. But don't let on that we didn't know this was to happen. Send out a message to the pawnshops — tell them to be on the lookout for Udell's stuff. They'll have to turn up somewhere. And we'll work from there. We'll catch this unseen rogue – sooner or later."

"Hopefully sooner," Emmit stated. "Lest someone will figure out we don't know what's goin' on."

---------------

****

Yay! I've finished! And I must say, I am somewhat disappointed with the turnout of reviewers. *tsks and shakes head* oh, well, not like I can do anything. I think it has something to do with the fact that people read more if it's TP's own characters. I know I do. Just so I can get a clear, accurate analysis (GAH! English lit. is taking over my life!) of how many of you are actually reading, please please please, everyone who's reading, review! And I don't care if all you even say is "it's cool" or "it sucks." Whatever it is, tell me!

Wow. That was pathetic. I'm actually begging for reviews. I must stop immediately. Review if ya want to, don't if ya don't


	5. Plans in Motion

****

Took me long enough, didn't it? Man.

Chapter is dedicated to Faith, who is the sole person responsible for getting me writing again. Much love to her, mwah.

Enjoy.

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Chapter Five

Plans in Motion

---------------

Cassandra felt better than she had in weeks.

The day after her heist dawned bright and clear, with sweet crisp air that came about often in the early spring. She still shivered slightly; warm days in Tortall were still cooler than warm days in Syene.

Cass moved through the streets without making herself noticeable in the crowd. She noticed an undertone of concealed conversations that was stronger than normal, and sauntered close to a cluster of women to hear what they were talking about.

" –woke, for the cold air can rouse a body faster than the gods. The window was broke and Lord Udell realized he'd been robbed proper!" Cass smiled and turned away, leaving the chattering women behind. They continued talking. "Everything in his treasure room was nicked, even through the spells he's got! And the spells not even be touched!"

Cass continued walking, no particular destination in mind. A heavy leather purse bounced against her leg at every step. Knowing that as soon as word got out, pawning the stolen treasures could prove disastrous, she had traded them in as early as the shop opened, and filched the receipt to make sure no one could trace her.

And so she drifted down the streets of Corus, the only one who knew the truth of the story that rippled along beside her.

-----

Nick Thatcher sat in his room at the Soaring Falcon. He balanced a knife point-down on his right index finger, his thoughts chasing themselves around his head.

A knock on the door disturbed his solitude. Nick flipped the knife into the air, snatched it by the handle with his left hand, and slid it back into his wrist sheath before shouting, "Who is it?" Better safe than dead.

"Emmit," came the voice.

"Come on in," Nick called, withdrawing the knife and beginning to play with it again. Emmit opened the door and stepped into the room. "What have you got for me?" Nick asked cheerfully.

"We've got the pawn shop he went to," Emmit declared. "Or should I say _she_?"

Nick's jaw dropped. "It's a _girl_?" he said incredulously.

"What, did you think only a man could pull it off?" Emmit asked him, grinning.

"Well, no… but yes. I mean, the last female thief who could hit a job that big would have to be… Alinda, way back when my pa was a lad. There's no girl in this city that could ever, in a thousand lifetimes, pull Udell's loot and not get caught. I mean, there are _no_ traces! It's almost like a ghost did it!" Nick explained.

"Not quite a ghost," Emmit pointed out. "Ghosts don't have descriptions. For that matter, ghosts don't need food, or money, so why would a ghost steal in the first place?"

Nick ignored the last part of his friend's speech. "We've got a description?" he said, voice unreadable, although Emmit could read the eagerness in his eyes.

"That we do. She went to Yetlin's place, first thing this morning; she's got experience to know that a lookout would be kept after word got out. She turned in everything she hauled, but she didn't pull up her hood, so Yetlin got a good long look at her," Emmit told his king.

"That shows you one other thing," Nick said thoughtfully. "She's a foreigner. All my rogues know Yetlin is in our loop. Someone from Corus would have gone to one of the Palace pawnshops."

Emmit shrugged. "Whatever the cause, we've got a solid description. Reddish-brown hair halfway down her back, gray eyes, thin-boned nose, pale-faced but darkly tanned…" he looked at a sheet of parchment he held and continued. "Too skinny, moves quickly, about five-six."

Nick was amused. "Yetlin can tell you all that?"

Emmit just looked at him. "He's not our man for nothing. He's good."

"You trust him, so I trust him. Get out a message to everyone. If they see anyone who matches that description that they don't recognize, have her followed. Tell them to grab the first rogue they see and have him come to you and tell you where to go. _You_ go get Yetlin and stay at the Falcon. If anyone comes, you and Yetlin go with him and see if it's her. If it's her, get her. Bring her to me," Nick said rapidly.

Emmit didn't even blink through Nick's confusing orders. Years of living in close quarters with him had given Emmit a precise mind for details. "And you will be?"

Nick snapped the dagger into the sheath. "I'll be out looking for her. If you find her first, bring her to my room. We'll see how good of a thief she is by tomorrow morning."

"What do you mean?"

"If she pulls another one tonight like she did last night, _with_ everyone looking for her and all the guards on every money stash in the city tripled, she'll be something to reckon with. Otherwise–" he moved to the door, cat-quiet– "It's just dumb luck." He slid out the door silently, leaving Emmit to carry out his orders.

-----

Cass slid into a booth at the Iron Horse Tavern, looking forward to a mulled mead – strong, but not enough to dull her senses.

She had spent the day in a state of contented wandering. Her newly acquired money allowed her to buy a hearty lunch and a gorgeous new dagger. Now she would finish her nearly perfect day with another sound meal. Cass closed her eyes, savoring the memory of a stomach filled with food.

"Can you believe it? And it being Lord Udell an' all!" The female voice drifted over from the next booth.

Smiling wryly, Cass shook her head. _It's been almost a day!_ she thought. _Can't they give it up?_

"And did you hear who it was? I heard it straight from Emmit, who heard it from His Majesty!" A second female voice chimed in.

Cass froze, staring straight ahead. An irrational, icy terror surged through her veins, lodging in her head. The world spun before her eyes. The sensible part of her mind knew that there was no way they could know, but her reaction was to take off. She forced herself to stay put.

"I did hear! Poor Slider. He'll have to hide for weeks!" The two women tittered.

Cass frowned. Who was Slider, and why was he being credited with what _she_ had done?

"Slider'll have to keep hidden," laughed one woman. "I hear my lord Provost is keeping an eye out."

Cass's good mood evaporated. She had her pride, after all! _I'll not have another stealing my fame,_ she thought heatedly, then smiled. _Even if no one knows it was me._

A servingmaid approached her, but Cass slid out from behind the table with an apologetic smile. She had more important things to do.

Cass brought a warm turnover from a street vendor and ate it while sitting under a tree. Although she was capable of extremely quick thinking on her toes, strategizing was not her strong suit.

One thing was clear. She needed to pull another job, as big as last night's. Apparently she had chosen some notoriously wealthy man to steal from; well, she would just have to pick another.

The question was, how would she find that next one?

Whoever she chose, she would have to do it tonight. Tonight, because this _Slider_ would be lying low and there was no way he could be credited again. Tonight, because the nobles wouldn't expect her to strike again so soon. Tonight, because if she waited, she might lose her nerve.

Sighing, Cass stood up. She wiped her fingers on the paper that had wrapped her food and looked around for a waste bin.

She finally spotted one, across the wide avenue. Crossing quickly, she easily tossed the ball of paper and watched it sail into the bin.

As she turned away, she glanced at the sign hanging above the door.

She froze.

Turning back, she stared at the sign, then smiled.

__

Wolfric's Protection Spells: When you need the best.

-----

"Any sign of her?" asked Nick crossly.

"None, Majesty. But maybe we're not looking in the right places," admitted Emmit. They were in Nick's rooms at the Soaring Falcon.

"The right places?" Nick repeated. "Where in the Black God's Realms are we looking, then? We're _rogues_! We know this city beter than anyone, and if we can't find one paltry girl-child–"

His tirade was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Come in or get out!" Nick yelled irritably.

A man pushed the door open just far enough for his head. "Majesty, we found your bird," he said quickly, using the thieves' cant.

"There, I told you we'd do it! And you doubted our men," Nick said accusingly.

Emmit sighed. "I'll go fetch her?"

"No, wait. Where he she?" he asked the man.

"Loungin' about outside the high-end protection spell shop. Doesn't know we're there."

"The spell show," Nick said thoughtfully. "She must be planning another steal. Emmit," he began, then stopped. He looked pointedly at the man's head, still poking through the door.

The rogue took the hint and vanished. He had no wish to be part of the king's strategizing.

"Follow her," Nick said bluntly. "Take Lightsteps and Uneven Peter and follow her. If she's going to rob another, let her. And when she's finished, and alone, bring her to me. If she's caught…" He shrugged. "She's on her own. She's not one of ours."

Emmit bowed. "Well thought. I'll be off, then," he said, and exited the room.

As it turned out, Lightsteps was the rogue who had located the girl, so he was already there. Emmit ran into Uneven Peter's lady, Vee, on the way on the way to the protection spell shop and told her to tell Peter to meet him there.

At the moment, Emmit and Lightsteps pretended to drink on a doorstep as they watched the girl, who sat under a tree and watched the shop.

"She done anythin'?" sounded a third voice.

Emmit's instinct was to jump, but he held himself still, giving no indication he'd been caught unawares. "Why _can_ you can move so quiet, Peter?" he asked conversationally.

Uneven Peter smiled, moving into view. One of his legs was shorter than the other, causing a limp, but he and Lightsteps were the two best sneaks in the Court of the Rogue — next to Emmit and the king.

"The two words sound good together," he explained.

"The bird looks like she's about to fly," remarked Lightsteps. Emmit and Peter turned casually, so as not to attract attention.

The girl, their quarry, had stirred. She stood up, stretched, and strolled, seemingly aimless, down the street.

"Any reason?" Emmit inquired.

"Lord 'n' Lady Wilseve just came out of the spell-shop."

"Indeed? Well, the girl has taste. Now let's not lose her, shall we?" Emmit said, nudging his companions.

They followed her down the street.

-----

Cass paused to look at a necklace from a street vendor, squinting in the fading light as she made sure she knew where the man and his lady were.

She was relieved that her plan had worked so well; she had half expected the shop to be closed, and no one ever going in or out. But luck had prevailed; two obviously wealthy patrons left the shop after she had waited scarcely half an hour.

Cass sent a prayer to the Being the ensure the Divinity's goodwill and providence, and a quick thank you to the patron god of thieves; though she hadn't heard any talk of him, there was always such a god in cities like these.

Now the couple that had emerged from the shop were making their slow, conspicuous way home. All she had to do was follow them like a lost dog and she would have her opportunity.

It took the pair nearly an hour to wander home. Cass watched with barely concealed delight as they left the upper class estates behind and continued into the section full of manors where the truly elite dwelled.

Finally, the lord and his lady entered a manor. Cass, by now the only person on the street, furtively made her way to the outside of the walls and settled herself under a windowsill to wait for nightfall. Catching herself yawning, she decided to take a small nap, trusting herself to wake in enough time to complete her steal.

Hours later, she roused herself from a dreamless sleep. Cass scowled as she checked the moonrise, realizing that she had overslept and there were three hours at the most before sunrise.

__

No matter, Cass thought. _I'll be done by then_.

She crept to the window. Reaching into her belt purse for a pair of gloves, she soundlessly pulled them on, squinting at the pane of glass.

Attempting the same thing she had done last time, Cass tried to pry the glass from the mortar, but soon realized she would get nowhere. Unlike Lord Udell, whoever lived here had no money troubles at all; the pane was true metal, nigh unbreakable.

Stymied, Cass stepped back from the window, her hands on her hips. She walked slowly around the house, searching for a way in The door was too risky — breaking it down was too loud, and impossible given her tools. Unhinging it was equally unlikely. She hadn't yet been able to find a good set of lockpicks in this foreign city, which also narrowed her options considerably.

Continuing to pace back and forth along the side of the house, Cass looked in the windows. A kitchen, settled down for the night, what appeared to be a library, bookshelves lining the walls, a sitting room, the fire grate sooty and unused.

Cass paused suddenly. She turned back to the sitting room window, studying the fireplace. Stepping away from the manor, she looked thoughtfully upwards.

-----

Uneven Pete was in shock.

"She can't climb that wall! 'Tis twenty foot high, with naught but a few outcroppings of stone!"

Emmit was unimpressed. "She hasn't climbed it yet, remember. She's only prepared."

The three men were watching her from the roof of a neighboring building. They fell into silence, watching Cass toss a rope, with a hook on the end, up to the roof. Uneven Pete fell into deeper and deeper amazement, muttering, "No way on the gods' earth…"

The girl was obviously quite skinny, and her lightweight body flew up the rope. She wriggled as she pulled herself onto the roof, then padded to the chimney. They watched her peer down the gaping hole, but were too far to see her triumphant smile as she correctly judged the width. The stupid lord and his lady enjoyed a wide, impressive fireplace, and it would be their downfall.

Cass disappeared down the chimney, and the men waited for the alarm to be called.

Forty minutes later, there were still no guard-spells going off, no alarm being shouted. The girl had not returned, but nor had she been caught.

Emmit roused himself, and his companions, prodding them in their shoulders. "Right then," he muttered. "Let's get ready to nab her if she comes out."

Shaking their heads in disbelief, Lightsteps and Uneven Peter made their way down to the ground again, taking up a position on each side of the rope that Cass had left hanging. Emmit stayed on the roof, ready to signal to them that she was coming.

Barely ten minutes hence, the two men saw Emmit give the signal and duck down, so as not to be seen. The rope started moving, and they could just hear the girl's noises of exertion as she lowered herself, trying to be as quiet as possible.

As soon as her feet touched the ground, they grabbed her by the shoulder and the arm. Only her training kept Cass from shrieking with alarm — though her shout would have been muffled by the three jewel-heavy necklaces clamped between her teeth.

Emmit vaulted over the roof, hooking her rope with a device he had rigged and sliding to the bottom. He flipped the grapple up and over, and started wrapping up the rope. "We've had a hard time finding you, miss," he told her calmly, taking the necklaces from her and examining them. He shook his head in helpless admiration. "Beauties, all three." Eyeing Cass thoughtfully, he said, "I'm sure the King will be quite interested to meet you."

Cass only had time to widen her eyes in horror before two men on either side lifted her bodily and started walking with grim purpose in the direction of the city.

**-----**

Well, there you have it. I hope it was worth the wait. And if you want more… just hold tight. I'm know exactly where this fic is going and I'm really going to try and finish it.

And out of curiosity, if you've read my fic "Search for the Six," tell me in a review or email if you'd be interested in seeing that redone, now that I'm two years older and a better writer.

-Lady Kate


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